The Dance Floor Murders
by xxLunaTerraxx
Summary: John and Sherlock go undercover at a gay nightclub in an attempt to catch a pair of serial murderers. Unbeknownst to them, certain events will open the floodgates to feelings that were deeply hidden but not forgotten. POST-REICHENBACH. SLASH.


**Authors Notation: **In light of current SHERLOCK information, that may or may not be true mind you, I developed the inspiration for a fic where John and Sherlock go undercover at a gay bar/nightclub. I wanted to kind of write this in a way that reflected how Johnlock could possibly happen in the show and I hope I did an okay job. (: Now this is by no means how I necessarily want or expect it to happen, I just see it as one of the many possible roads that could be taken.

**Disclaimer: **The great Moffat and Gatiss own these wonderful characters. I am just borrowing them to weave a tale that I find most appealing.

**The Dance Floor Murders**

It had only been a few weeks since Sherlock's return from the dead and already both him and John were settling back into a regular routine. Not to say that John was completely over the fact that Sherlock had faked his own death and then left him for three years in complete and utter emotional agony, but full understanding of the reality of why it had to be done had finally completely sunk in so John was no longer actively punishing the detective. Mrs. Hudson however had forgiven Sherlock right off (she was just happy to have him back regardless of the reasons) and Lestrade...well...Lestrade had actually apologized to Sherlock for not believing in him like he should have and for letting outside forces poison his mind. John had a feeling that Lestrade felt that, if he had held more strongly onto his personal beliefs, then Sherlock wouldn't of had to take the drastic steps that he had taken to protect them. Sherlock surprisingly, had dismissed such an idea saying that the intricate web of fate had already been woven and laid out by Moriarty long before any of them ever knew he existed and, regardless of what they thought, there was nothing Lestrade or anyone could of done to stop it.

Personally, the one person that John thought** should** be the one apologizing was Sherlock's brother Mycroft. After all, if it hadn't been for him and his big mouth and self-centered ways, Moriarty wouldn't of had the ammunition to bring Sherlock down in the first place. Come to realize however, that the older Holmes brother had known about Sherlock and his fake suicide from the beginning and apparently had already done his part to make up for his mistakes. It made perfect sense considering Mycroft was the only one who, with his resources, would of been able to keep Sherlock off and under the radar for so long, but personally John felt that Mycroft still had a long way to go in making things up to, not just Sherlock, but to him as well.

For the most part, John had been able to convince Sherlock to lay low for a while and merely work on cold cases for Lestrade. A majority of London still thought Sherlock a fraud and responsible for the kidnapping of the American ambassador's children, as well as any other criminal work pertaining to Moriarty, so working any high profile cases were out of the question. Occasionally though, there would be an active case that Lestrade would be extremely desperate for Sherlock's help on and he would secretly collaborate with the consulting detective.

Sherlock and John were currently working on one of those cases. For the past few weeks, a male pair of serial killers had been prowling the London gay scene and had been targeting gay couples. They would stalk the bars for their victims and, after picking them up with promises of a good time back at their place, would drug and torture them viciously for days before dumping their dead bodies on the side of the road like garbage. It was unclear whether the duo were together as well or just posing as a couple to lure in their unsuspecting victims. By the brutality of the crimes however, and the fact that the victims were all from the same social group, one could easily speculate that these were hate crimes and the perpetrators were most likely straight and lashing out at the victims and their lifestyle.

John clenched his right hand into a fist as he steadily inhaled and exhaled. He then closed his eyes while he leaned his head against the back of the booth he was sitting in. Maybe it was because his sister was gay but this particular case really hit home for him. The idea that someone was deliberately going after people just because they lived a different way of life made his stomach churn and his blood boil. He wanted to catch these bloody bastards and make them pay for what they had done, which was why he found himself in his current situation.

John was used to seeing Sherlock become so obsessed with a case before, but there was something about this one that just seemed different. Sherlock had spent days going over each box of evidence pertaining to the case. Every night he would leave to escape to the evidence locker at Scotland Yard, pouring over every bit of information he could get his hands on. He went so far as to take photographs of each piece of evidence, at every angle, so he could study them back at the flat, as well as photocopy all the information in each of the files pertaining to the victim and their personal case.

Currently both him and Sherlock were residing at a gay nightclub called Obscure Illusions (Sherlock had deduced that this was one of the three favorite hunting grounds) and were undercover as a couple, hoping that they could draw the culprits out and be their next targets. At first, Lestrade had been adamant that there had to be another way, but Sherlock had insisted that, if the Inspector wanted the killings to stop, then he was going to have to send somebody in on equal ground. A few more arguments had to be thrown before Lestrade had agreed, but he insisted that he send in two experienced officers instead. Sherlock had shot down that idea with a wave of his hand, stating that everybody at the Yard was incompetent and would stick out like a sore thumb, that him and John were his best bet because they would be able to function without outside assistance and would also be able to blend in perfectly. John wasn't sure he liked what Sherlock meant by the latter half of his comment but one glare from the detective had him letting it slide.

John opened his eyes to stare at a slightly peeling ceiling. He could feel the vibrations of the music reverberate throughout his chest and the flashing lights of the dance floor lit up the area around him in a array of bright colors. He then brought his head back up and focused on the empty seat in front of him. Sherlock had gone to get them both a drink over fifteen minutes ago and John was starting to get worried. Not that the grown man couldn't take care of himself, but the reality of where they were and what was out there on the hunt, made John extra cautious. He was actually just about ready to get up and go looking for the man when he literally appeared out of nowhere and slid into the booth next to John, holding both their drinks.

"Here you are my dear." Sherlock smirked as he placed a beer right in front of where John sat, while gently beginning to nurse his own lightly colored mixed drink. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's endearment before bringing the brown bottle to his lips.

"Do you have to do that?"

Sherlock glanced innocently over at the man sitting next to him. "Do what?"

John brought the bottle away from him and placed it back down on the table before turning to face his companion. "That thing you just did. That whole "dear" thing."

Sherlock sighed as he mirrored his mate's movements and placed his drink down. "John, we are supposed to be partners, lovers. Isn't giving each other pet names proper protocol?" He lifted his drink back to his lips and took a sip before continuing in a very serious manner, "Now relax and act like we're together our you'll blow the whole thing." In an attempt to bring his point home, Sherlock grabbed John's leg and threw it over his own before placing a hand securely on top of the blonds exposed thigh.

John could feel his entire face heat up. Not only was he feeling a bit too exposed, but the feeling of Sherlock's hand so close to an intimate area had John's heart pounding to the point he was sure it could be heard over the base of the music. Sherlock had a point though, they were supposed to be pretending to be a couple and, after hearing such praise given about his abilities earlier John would hate to be a disappointment. In an attempt to relax, John quickly downed half of his beer. He immediately regretted it though as he could feel the alcohol slam right into him.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog from his vision. He cursed the fact he had forgotten to grab something to eat before they left, something to absorb the alcohol. He was just about to voice his concern when Sherlock raised one of his hands to a passing cocktail waitress and motioned for her to bring them something to munch on. A bowel of pretzels was carried out to them a moment later.

John's hand shot forward and he began busying himself with munching on the salty snack, forgetting his drink for the time being. Sherlock's long and slender fingers reached out and swiped up one of the salty confections for himself, slowly nibbling on it like it was some fancy treat to be savored. After finishing it off, he went in for another but, instead of taking a bite out of it himself, he swiftly turned and offered the twisted piece of dough to John.

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's offer but went into to take it nonetheless. Unfortunately, before his fingers could clasp over the cheap snack, Sherlock quickly moved it away and out of his reach. John's face twisted into an even more confused look, that is until the detective make a gesture toward his own mouth, making an open and shut motion before maneuvering the pretzel back in front of John's face. John frowned. From what he could gather, Sherlock wanted to **feed **him though John wasn't sure how much he liked that idea. A sudden squeeze to his jean clad thigh however brought his attention back to the situation and back to a very sour looking Sherlock.

John closed his eyes and let loose a exasperated sigh. It looked like Sherlock was taking this "partner" thing very seriously so John might as well play along, though he seriously doubted he was drunk enough. Opening his mouth, he waited until he felt the rough texture against his tongue before biting down and breaking off half of the pretzel in his mouth. Sherlock smiled, seemingly satisfied with the outcome, before placing the rest of the brown colored treat into his own mouth and savoring the combined flavors of salt, hardened dough and something that was uniquely John Watson.

After they had finished off their drinks, and lounged in their booth for a while longer, Sherlock advised they get a second beverage and attempt to mingle with the crowd. When asked why he thought mingling was a good idea, Sherlock insisted that it would be a way to draw attention to themselves and to lure the murderous men toward them specifically. With a quick nod, and with an air of confidence that he wasn't sure he really had, John took Sherlock's offered hand and they both headed into the assemblage of people.

Sherlock did most of the talking. John basically just remained at his side, sipping on his second beer and occasionally putting in a word or two when a question was thrown his way. It wasn't that John was being anti-social on purpose, it was just that he found himself at a loss for words, totally enamored with watching Sherlock. It really was a sight to behold to watch the man work. The man could jump right into any situation and pretend to be the most sociable butterfly when, in reality, he was more like an inconspicuous wall flower.

John also couldn't help but notice just how relaxed Sherlock was. Ignoring the fact that they were purposely putting themselves in harms way to catch a pair of serial killers, they were also each way out of their element. He knew they were supposed to be undercover but John just couldn't help but feel awkward and out of place. Standing around in blue-jeans, a gray t-shirt and a brown leather jacket made John feel like he was a typical older man trying to fit into a younger crowd. Sherlock however blended in quite nicely. He wore tight fitting black jeans that accentuated his legs, thighs and arse but left him enough room to move around comfortably. He also wore a simple black t-shirt covered by a black leather zip up jacket with zipper pockets on each breast. What really brought the attire home in John's opinion though, was the man's hair. What was usually jet black was now an auburn red. Needless to say John was quite taken aback when Sherlock had come out of his bedroom at 221B earlier that evening, towel wrapped around his neck, hair wet and thoroughly dyed. The new color made him look a lot younger, almost a different person entirely which, considering they were undercover, was obviously the entire purpose.

Also, Sherlock seemed to be entirely comfortable in the overly affectionate facade that he seemed so insistent with putting on. In all the time John had known him, Sherlock was never one to be excessively touchy with anyone. Granted the man seemed to lack common knowledge of the term "personal space" but he never did anything other than a quick pat of the shoulder or a friendly handshake when it came to bodily contact. Now however, Sherlock was doing everything from fiddling with John's hair to wrapping his arm around John's middle so he could stroke the blond man's hipbone through the rough denim of his jeans.

These actions, of course, did nothing to calm the ex-army doctor, which was most likely why John found himself working on his forth beer of the night. He knew that getting drunk wouldn't be helping their case any, but as long as John could string coherent sentences together, as well as walk in a relatively straight line, he figured that getting enough alcohol in him, to where he wouldn't mind the fingers that were currently caressing his lower back and setting his skin on fire, wouldn't be that big of a deal. If he had known the events that were about to take place however, John most likely would of stopped his intake a while ago. He would of found some other way to ignore the delicious feeling of Sherlock's fingers tracing intricate patterns way too close to the cleft of his arse.

In all honesty, John wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the way Sherlock was touching him, the bright lights that danced in front of his vision or the pounding of the music as it pulsed through his veins, but he all of a sudden placed his half finished beer down on a nearby table, grabbed the hand the detective wasn't using to molest him with and excused themselves before making his way onto the dance floor with an utterly perplexed Sherlock trailing behind.

"John, what are you doing?! Those could very well be the murderers you just dragged us away from!"

Stopping in the middle of the dance floor, John stumbled a bit as he swirled around (maybe he did have a bit too much to drink) and yanked Sherlock until they were practically nose to nose with each other. "You know as well as I do after talking to them for over half an hour that they're not. Now, you told me to blend in and act like a couple so that is what I am doing. Now dance with me you bloody sod."

Eye's narrowed, John's breath coasted out against Sherlock's lips to the point the consulting detective was sure that, if he slid his tongue out, he was sure to obtain another taste of his dear doctor. Instead though, Sherlock merely smirked before moving his hips to the music that started coming out over the club's speakers. It was an electronic pop selection, one that neither of them were even vaguely familiar with, but neither of them cared as they gave themselves over to the music.

Sherlock's greyish blue eyes never once left John's dark colored ones as his hips continued to sway provocatively to the rhythm that was surrounding them. Slowly he brought his arms up over his head and closed his eyes as he then totally gave himself over to the music. John watched, completely mesmerized by Sherlock's movements. The only time John had ever seen Sherlock this gone was when he was playing the violin, but even then, his movements merely consisted of him bringing the bow across each string and occasionally walking around the flat while he played. What John was baring witness to here now though was, not only his mind immersed, but his body and soul as well.

After a few solid seconds had gone by, Sherlock re-opened his eyes and brought his focus back on John. He slowly brought his arms down from over his head to being stretched out in front of him, his palms up as if her were begging for something. Suddenly, he began walking almost seductively over to where John still stood, his eyes pleading for the doctor to come join him. Almost as if he was compelled by some invisible force, John reached out with both his hands until their fingertips touched and their hands molded together in a firm grasp. Another smirk graced Sherlock's features as he then pulled John close, wrapping the brown leather clad arms around his slender waist. He then held John's hands in place with one hand, while his other came up to gently stroke John's cheek.

John was at a loss for words. Here he was, pretty much chest to chest with his flatmate, their hips a breath apart and his entire skin flared with goose-pimples from a simple caress by a lone steady finger. He could feel his blood pounding in his ears with the beat of the music and his breath hitch as Sherlock just seemed to get even closer. His alcohol induced mind didn't have time to process the implications of what was going on however because, almost as soon as Sherlock had pulled them together, he backed away, spun John around and brought the ex-army doctor back up against him, only this time there wasn't a hair of space between them.

John's mind spun out of control as he felt his backside flush up against his flatmate's crotch. The situation wasn't made any easier with Sherlock being half hard and gyrating himself into the blondes said backside. John threw his head back and bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan he could feel coming, not that anyone could of heard him over the blaring of the music if he was to let one escape. The feeling of Sherlock's member pulsating through the fabric of his trousers was making John swell up himself and he couldn't stop himself from pushing back to the beat of the music. Unlike John, Sherlock did nothing to hold back his moan of pleasure, leaning his head down so he could let it vibrate around the doctor's ear as his hands came up to skim across John's hips.

For the remainder of the song, their movements pretty much continued as such. It wasn't until toward the end did Sherlock's face change from one lost in bliss to one of seriousness and utter scrutiny. He leaned his head down once again to John's ear, his icy blue stare locked on to a couple sitting a few meters away from where they danced.

"John, there has been a couple staring at us ever since you pulled us out here. They very well could be the murderous pair we have been looking for. Let us go over there and strike up a conversation shall we?"

And with that, Sherlock pulled away and proceeded to make his way over to the couple he had just pointed out. It took a few moments for John's brain to catch up with his body and figure out just what exactly happened. One minute, he had been dancing with his very male best friend, who had been causing him to fly higher than he had with any woman he had ever dated, to standing alone in the middle of a crowded floor with his breathing quite erratic and baring a hard on that was getting ready to burst should anyone or anything even **think** about touching it.

Letting loose a strangled sigh, John closed his eyes and willed his erection to go down at least part way, before even attempting to follow Sherlock and his insane antics. On his way over to where the detective was now sitting however, John stopped at the bar and ordered himself another beer. Granted it was what had gotten him into the situation he was currently in but, if he was going to make it through the night without becoming a murderer himself, he was going to need a distraction. Slapping down a couple of notes, not even caring if it was the right amount, John angrily yet casually made his way over to sit next to the absolute tosser he had for a flatmate, hoping against all hope that these were the perpetrators so they could arrest them and head on back to the flat where he could escape up to him room, have a good wank and disappear into the darkness of sleep.

###

The couple that Sherlock had caught staring at them turned out to** not** be the individuals they had been looking for. They were just some fellows who had been new in town, who had found both John and Sherlock to be quite attractive together and thought they might be some good people to get to know. After excusing themselves from the pair, John was sure that Sherlock would have been adamant about continuing their search but surprisingly, and thankfully, had stated it had been getting late and they should give up their hunt for the night. John had readily agreed and, after finding Lestrade parked outside in an unmarked and giving them their report, they hailed a cab and returned to Baker Street.

The ride back to their flat had been uncharacteristically silent for the most part. Not that they each would have been filled with chit-chat after such a long and grueling night, but the silence was heavy with unease. It wasn't until they were safely back in their flat, and upstairs in the sitting room, did either of them decide to address it.

"John, I know that you find my disconnection with the victims, or possible victims, to be disheartening but I assure you I entirely comprehend the feelings that come from caring about them."

John nearly tripped and dropped the kettle he was using to make tea at Sherlock's remark. He turned and looked at his friend with a questioning look. "Wait, what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He very much hated repeating himself but he chalked up John's inability to understand him fully to the amount of alcohol he had consumed throughout the night and let it go just this once. "I am saying I understand your frustration, but we will get the killers before they kill again."

John's look of confusion turned to one of incredulous before he turned to put the kettle back on the counter top."Wait, you think...you think the fact that we didn't get the murderers is what I am upset about?"

It was Sherlock's turn to look confused now. "Well what else is there to be displeased about?" He glanced around the flat as if something was going to pop out and tell him John was completely joking about his inquiry.

For a split second, John thought about just marching upstairs and leaving Sherlock to untangle himself from his confused state by himself. However, once he noticed how seriously out of sorts he was, his eyes softened somewhat and he took a few steps closer to the consulting detective. "You really don't know, do you?" John made motions with his hands as he talked, "You, me, out on the dance floor..."

Sherlock's eye narrowed as he regarded his companion. "If my memory serves me correctly John, it was you who pulled us out there so I see no understanding as to why you should be upset about..."

"It's not the fact that we danced Sherlock! It's what you **did** that has me pissed off!"

There were only two other times that John had ever shouted at Sherlock like he had just done. The first was when he called him a machine for not caring that Mrs. Hudson was shot and in the hospital (it turned out that it had all been a well laid out trick done my Moriarty, but that had been beside the point) and the second was when he had discovered the man standing in front of him had been alive for three years and had completely faked his own death. This was now considered to be the third time and Sherlock had actually felt the deep cut of the impact those words had left behind. John was obviously referring to the **way **Sherlock had danced with him and not the fact that they had.

The whole point in concocting the whole undercover scheme was to put John in a position to where he could admit his feelings and Sherlock then could admit his. The fact that Sherlock had been wrong in his deductions about John's feeling toward him sent him reeling. Sherlock actually felt like his heart was being ripped in two but he did his best to hide said fact as well as the reality that he felt like he was going to discharge all of his stomach contents onto the floor.

"It appears that I have made a mistake. My apologies for any discomfort I may have caused you in my assumptions. I..." Sherlock looked down and uncharacteristically fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket, "I understand if you need to move out of the flat now because what I have done and the mistake I have made in my judgments."

John shook his head and sighed as he closed the distance between him and his flatmate. "Sherlock, you didn't make me uncomfortable, at least not in the way you're thinking. I actually...enjoyed it, a lot," he allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards in response to his next comment, "And like you said, I was the one that pulled us out there. I mean, what was I expecting to happen right?"

Sherlock slowly looked up from playing with the little metal fastener attached to the corner of his jacket to see the sincerity shining in John's eyes. This caused a full blown smile to crash through his depressed state, which was answered by John allowing the rest of his mouth to curl upwards.

For a while, neither of them said anything else. They each just stood there in total silence, trying to figure out what to do next. It was at that point that Sherlock stepped forward, took John's face in his hands and pressed their lips together. It was a simple kiss, nothing too passionate or probing, but enough that the parties involved could feel the deep emotion behind it. For a brief moment, John's entire body stiffened both from shock and the unfamiliarity of being kissed by another man. He soon relaxed however, leaned into the kiss and responded in kind. In all honesty, John wasn't quite sure what was going to happen to the two of them after this and where this would inevitably lead but, what he **was** sure about though, was that before he met Sherlock, he felt as if he he had no purpose in life, that there was nothing outside the war for him and everything was completely dull. Now however, his life was full of color and he felt like he had finally found his place, found his home. In short, regardless of what happened down the road, there was no way he was ever going to leave the great Sherlock Holmes.

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Long one-shot is long. This actually has to be one of the longest one-shots I have ever written and it figures it would be pertaining to Johnlock lol

I actually had a entirely different concept for this when I first planned it out but apparently John and Sherlock had different ideas and they just kind of took over. I love it when that happens sometimes though. It's like the characters are standing right next to you, guiding your fingers as you write. It totally brings a special kind of magic to your work that just can't be produced any other way.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed my work and I look forward to reading all the wonderful comments and reviews that I am sure you all are just dying to leave. ^_^


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